Rhapsody: Child of Blood

35

The three companions sat around the low-burning campfire, waiting in silence for the children to nod off. They had decided to chance sleeping in the woods at night rather than risking the man in gray returning with reinforcements.

Grunthor had gathered a number of blankets, which Rhapsody wrapped around the children. The strange group then headed immediately back toward Haguefort, Stephen Navarne’s keep.

They traveled well after dark, until at last they realized that the youngest of the children could no longer continue. It was only then they made camp, gathering around two small fires that Rhapsody made. Soon the children, tired and bewildered, fell off to sleep, five of them in Rhapsody’s lap or clinging to her sides.

Finally, after she was sure the last child was asleep, Rhapsody looked at Achmed.

“We’re not going to make it back,” she said. “With the children, we don’t have a chance in these woods in the snow. It’s only a matter of time before he hunts us down.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to have to find a sheltered place to hide them, and one of us will have to go back alone.”

“There’s an abandoned bear den not too far from ’ere, north by northwest, a league and an ’alf,” commented Grunthor. “It’s big enough, and dry.”

A moment of puzzlement, then delight shone on her face in the firelight. “Oh, that’s right! I’d forgotten about your Earth lore. I’m sorry, Grunthor.” She thought back to the scene at the House of Remembrance, and the destruction the hooded man had wreaked. “That bastard had fire lore, a lot of it.”

“I noticed,” Achmed said.

“’Is troops was pretty well trained, too,” Grunthor added, “not just a bunch o’ brigands, you know. They was professionals.”

“I noticed that, too.”

“I think he was the person referred to in that contract. I think he was the Rakshas,” Rhapsody said reflectively. The fire crackled and simmered down to match the quieting of her mood.

“Why?”

“Well, to begin with, he referred to the house as being his. In the contract it mentioned that the Rakshas was now the Master of the house. I got the impression from the contract that whatever the Rakshas and its master were, they were somehow demonic. The fire he threw at us felt twisted, evil.”

“That wasn’t the only thing that felt twisted,” Achmed said. “I felt the same sense of evil when I saw him through whatever lore let me see the House. Besides, that was black fire. How many times have you seen black fire, Grunthor?”

The Bolg looked at Achmed silently for a moment, and then turned away, shaking his head slowly. Rhapsody looked from one to the other.

“What? What is it?” she asked nervously.

“Just that you’re right,” Achmed answered. “Black fire is associated with denizens of the Underworld. When I saw that thing we are calling the Rakshas, I felt sick—not before. I didn’t sense it from a distance, only when I looked into its face. I think that if it were a demon, I would have felt its presence earlier, but it definitely is somehow touched by demonic forces. I’m not certain how yet, though. I would have to see it again.”

“Let’s try to avoid that, eh?” Grunthor suggested. Achmed nodded.

“But what’s to stop it from doing the same thing again?” Rhapsody patted one of the children in her lap who had begun moaning in her sleep.

“Not us. We’ll leave that to Lord Stephen’s army. At least we can tell them who—what—to look for now.”

The emerald eyes that looked up in surprise caught the firelight and refracted it like gemstones. “Couldn’t you try to track it?”

“I did. I got nothing. I couldn’t follow its path. So even if we wanted to go searching for it, it’s gone now. Besides, we have fifteen kids with us. Do you want to bring them along on this little hunt?”

Rhapsody fell silent. They continued to stare into the flames for a few moments longer. A rustling noise could be heard on the other side of the fire as one of the children turned over.

She thought about the children and what they had endured. She hoped that they had prevented it from occurring again, but she somehow doubted it. Still, Achmed was right; their first task was to return the children to their homes, or at least to Navarne, where Lord Stephen could be responsible for them.

Achmed passed the journal he had been reading to Rhapsody for her opinion. She caressed the hair of the child who clung to her, his head on her shoulder, as she read. Finally she looked up.

“This is the post-evacuation report, from when the Firbolg overran Canrif at the end of the Cymrian War four hundred years ago.”

“Yes.”

The glittering green eyes looked him up and down. “So?” she asked, her brows drawing together. Achmed said nothing, but rose and stirred the fire. “What, Achmed?” When he still didn’t respond, understanding came into those eyes. “Oh, tell me no. You want to go there, don’t you?”

The look that met hers was piercing. “I believe that’s been the understanding all along, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose,” she admitted grudgingly. “But now that we know these people have the same map and the same idea, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea anymore.”

“Anymore? You never thought it was a good idea. But let’s think clearly; these bastards aren’t in Canrif, they’re here—”

“Who said they aren’t there, too?” she interrupted.

“—and, unlike us, they aren’t Bolg.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m not Bolg, either.”

“And as a result there are any number of places you can choose to live and be welcome. There is only one such place for us, and that’s Canrif. Grunthor and I are getting mighty sick of having to hide and skulk around these human lands. The Bolg will accept you far more easily than your kind will accept us.”

“Of course they will,” Rhapsody said nervously. “As supper.”

“Look,” Achmed said impatiently, “have you got somewhere better to go? I told you I’d take you to the Lirin land, Tyrian, but you decided to come with us. Have you changed your mind? If you have, I’ll point the way and you and the brats can head out now. Bring her down, Grunthor.”

Rhapsody stared at him, not comprehending the last comment. The giant Bolg leapt nimbly to his feet and darted out of the firelight, returning a moment later with a squirming bundle under one arm.

It was the teenager named Jo, caught on the brink of escape and swearing in language that both impressed and shocked the Singer. It was the cant of the street, gutter-talk; she had used it herself from time to time at Jo’s age. The girl must be a street child. It explained the attitude.

Grunthor plopped Jo, backside first, into a large snowbank and regarded her in amusement. “Now, then, lit’le miss, where you be off to? You late for the royal ball?”

The girl struggled to get up, but the huge hand that came to rest on her head prevented it. She slapped at Grunthor’s paw and glared at him.

“I’m not going back there,” she snarled.

“Where, Jo?” Rhapsody asked.

“Navarne. I heard you talkin’ about it. I’m not going back there. Let me up.”

Rhapsody gently disengaged herself from her clinging sleepers and made certain they were warmly covered. Then she rose and came to where Grunthor was sitting, his hand on the pale blond hair of the flailing teenager’s head.

She looked the girl over. The teenager was plain of face, thin and gangly, with a full bosom and angular chin, easily a hand’s breadth taller than herself. Jo’s eyes were pale, watery blue, but they had depth. Rhapsody felt as if she was looking at herself many years before, in those unhappy days alone on the street. She felt her heart swell with a fondness beyond reason. “You have no parents, do you?”

“No,” said the girl defiantly. “Let me up, you big, ugly swine.”

Grunthor slapped his chest and laughed aloud. “Ow, you cut me to the ’eart,” he said merrily.

“Don’t make fun of her. Let her up,” Rhapsody said. When the girl was free she turned the daggers in her gaze toward the Singer, then her face went slack, and she said nothing. Rhapsody bent down beside her.

“Why don’t you want to go back to Navarne?”

“Because I’m wanted for theft, and I don’t want to lose my hand.”

Rhapsody blinked in astonishment. “Lose your hand? Have you ever seen anyone lose their hand in Navarne for theft?”

The street child’s mouth opened defiantly, then snapped shut rapidly. “No, but everyone knows that’s the punishment.”

The Singer smiled. “Ah, yes, good old Everyone, the world’s wisest man. I don’t believe Lord Stephen would allow a law like that in his realm.”

“Yes he would. He’s an arse-rag.”

This time all three laughed. “I’m sure your assessment of him is very astute, given what intimate friends the two of you are,” Rhapsody said. Her face grew serious, seeing the panic that was creeping into Jo’s. Despite her defiance, Rhapsody knew she was terrified.

“I’ll tell you what, Jo; how about if I tell Lord Stephen that you’re my sister? His children and I are quite fond of each other, and I think that would be sufficient for him to spare your hand.”

The girl stared at her. “You’d do that?”

“Well, only if it’s true. I can’t lie, I’m afraid; against my profession.”

Jo scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ll adopt you as my sister, if you’re willing, and then it’ll be true, and Lord Stephen will overlook your crime.”

“Gods,” muttered Achmed.

“Is this an ’abit you forgot to mention?” Grunthor asked.

“Yes, I guess it is a habit of sorts,” Rhapsody said to the giant, grinning broadly. “It’s a good thing I adopted the two of you. The only people in the whole world I would ever put up with this much abuse from are my brothers.”

“Well, Oi always thought there was a physical resemblance, particularly between you and me, Yer Ladyship.”

“What do you say, Jo?” Rhapsody was growing excited. “Want to be my sister? I’ve always wanted one, and never had one before. We even look alike.”

Jo snorted. “You must be joking.”

The Singer was taken aback. “Well, no, actually. We’re both blond and light-eyed.”

“Yeah, you could be twins,” said Grunthor, laughing.

“Shut up,” Jo said to him. Grunthor’s eyes twinkled affectionately.

“Actually, lit’le miss, you do remind me a great deal o’ the Duchess ’ere. You got a mouth on ya. Oi suggest you take ’Er Ladyship up on ’er offer: otherwise, it’s back to Navarne with you.”

“Hey, sis,” said Jo hastily.

Rhapsody clapped her hands in delight. “Marvelous. Well, it probably couldn’t hurt to tell you my name is Rhapsody. What’s yours?”

The girl looked at her as if she were an idiot. “Jo,” she said, her voice dripping with disgust.

“Jo what? Is Jo short for something? Do you have a last name?”

The girl wrapped her arms around herself and glared defiantly at her.

“Bugger off.”

“Jo Bugger-Off. An odd name.”

“It suits you,” Achmed said to the girl. The defiant glare faded somewhat beneath an unwilling smile.

“That’s it,” said Grunthor approvingly. “She’s got a sense o’ ’umor. You’ll fit in with us just fine, darlin’.”

On the morning they found the bear den Grunthor had mentioned, a hidden hole in a thicket of brambles that opened into a surprisingly large cave. Achmed had gone in first to make sure it was unoccupied and sound. After determining that it was, Rhapsody and Jo led the children inside and began preparing for the long wait. Achmed delayed his exit until he was sure they would be safe.

“Use up the supplies. I’m sure Stephen will reprovision us when we return with whoever he sends to pick up the brats,” he said.

Rhapsody looked nervously around the silent forest. The temperature had dropped in the night, freezing the snow into a sharp crust and stinging the exposed extremities of the children. Each of the three had given their gloves to one of the little ones, but most of the children were still suffering the effects of the cold.

“Please hurry,” she said, knowing the exhortation was unnecessary. “I’d hate to have rescued them just to have them die of frostbite or exposure to the elements.”

“I’m not too concerned about that,” Achmed said with a slight smile. “I imagine you’ll find a way to keep them warm—rocks are a good conductor of heat—and you have shelter here. I’m more worried about predators, one in particular. Try and keep out of sight. I’ll create some diversionary tracks to draw him away from you. Grunthor will stand guard.”

Rhapsody looked into the unusual face and smiled. “I know. Be careful yourself.” She embraced him, then turned to go back into the cave.

“Rhapsody?”

“Yes?”

“We need to talk about this girl when I get back.”

Rhapsody turned around and stood directly in front of him. “Let’s talk about it now.”

The Dhracian shook his head. “There isn’t time. I have to get to Stephen’s as quickly as possible.”

“Then there’s nothing to talk about,” Rhapsody said. “I know what you’re going to say—that I shouldn’t have adopted her, that you don’t trust her.”

Achmed nodded. “That’s about it.”

“Well, then, it seems to me that I’ve made my choice, now you need to make yours. Jo and I are a set. If you want us to leave when you get back, we will find our own way.”

Achmed breathed deeply, trying to contain his fury. “It might have been nice for you to consult us before making this decision.”

Rhapsody exhaled as well. “I know,” she said softly. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. It just seemed the right thing to do.”

“I guess that depends on what you define as ‘right.’ You’ve just compromised our chances of survival, Rhapsody, whether you know it or not.”

“How can you say that, especially after what we’ve just seen in that house?” Rhapsody spat. “You, who can take out a field of soldiers in a heartbeat? She’s a child, Achmed. And, unlike those other poor children who, if they live until you get back, have families waiting to celebrate their return, Jo has nothing, no one. You might as well have left her there, for all her chances of survival without us.”

“And when did this become your bloody responsibility?”

Rhapsody’s voice dropped to a murderous whisper.

“I made it my bloody responsibility. Believe it or not, I actually have some choices in life, despite your proclivity for making my decisions for me. This is one of them. She stays, or we both go. I’m not abandoning her.”

“Oi like ’er, if that counts for anythin’,” added Grunthor. His face was somber.

The Dhracian turned in his direction, his expression changing. He thought for a long moment.

“Are you willing to have her with us, to be responsible for her?”

“Sure, why not? It worked with ’Er Ladyship ’ere.”

“It’s hardly the same.”

“Why?” Rhapsody asked. “I see no difference. You wanted to help me; now I want to help her.”

Achmed stifled a laugh. “You think we were looking to help you?”

Rhapsody blinked. “Yes; well, at the moment we met, anyway. And you did, even if I didn’t appreciate being dragged off-Island at the time.”

Achmed’s face twisted in amusement. “And it never occurred to you that we might have taken you along as insurance—”

“Or a food source?” added Grunthor playfully.

“Of course it did, but time has proven otherwise. Come on, you two, she needs us. She won’t be any problem—well, no more a problem than I was.”

“Uh-oh, now that you put it like that—”

“She’s damaged goods,” said Achmed impatiently. The jovial look in Rhapsody’s eyes vanished and was replaced with something darker. She cast a glance in the direction of the cave to be sure Jo could not hear them.

“Pardon me,” she said acidly, “but in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re all damaged goods in some way.”

“’Ey, speak for yourself,” said Grunthor.

“I am. This girl needs me, needs us. And I need her. I’ll be responsible for her. If you don’t want us with you any longer, that’s fine. But I’m not leaving her.”

Achmed exhaled angrily. “All right, she can come. But she needs to understand that she is responsible to all of us, not just you. We can’t have a member of this team we can’t trust. You can tell her where we’re going, but nothing about our past. Are we agreed?”

Rhapsody threw her arms around him, knocking him off balance. “Yes. Thank you.” She released him quickly and straightened his askew cloak. “Now hurry. Be careful, and tell Lord Stephen to send medical supplies, too.”

For more than a week the strange group stayed within the cave, waiting for Achmed to return. Rhapsody kept the children warm with her fire lore, heating the rocks as Achmed had suggested, until the cave was as cozy as a house with a roaring hearth.

Food was plentiful; Grunthor had been provisioned for several weeks’ journey, and one day’s food rations for him fed all of the children with some to spare. With no need to have a fire for warmth they avoided having one, keeping the air of the cave fresh and leaving no trail of smoke by which to be spotted.

The absence of light initially frightened the children, so Rhapsody drew Daystar Clarion and stuck it, tip first, into the soft ground in a corner of the cave. Its flames gave off no smoke, and licked quietly up the blade, illuminating the cave and filling it with a warm glow, made sweeter by the quiet songs she sang to keep the children amused. With the herbs from her pack she treated their wounds and kept them tranquil, trying to avoid making any noise that would draw attention to their hidden den.

She softly maintained her morning and evening devotions, however. As she sang, the faces of her newly adopted grandchildren, Gwydion and Melisande, rose up in her heart, smiling as they had when last they were together. The warm memory stood in stark contrast to the bleak, anxious countenances that stared back at her now. It made her frightened for all the children of Navarne.

Once, while she was staring at the small faces, the knots of worry barely eased in their sleep, memories of the old days flooded her mind. She thought back to Analise, the child she had saved from Michael, whom he had derisively called Petunia.

The day after Michael and his men had left on their assignment she had taken the child, under the protection of Nana’s guards, to the Wide Meadows, the great open plain that surrounded Easton on three sides. Together they had searched out the leader of the Liringlas who made their home there.

The Lirin house had taken the child in warmly, and Rhapsody had long comforted herself with the image of Analise, sitting before the leader on her horse, waving goodbye and smiling for the first and only time she had seen. She had smiled and waved in return, knowing that Analise would be well cared for.

It was not until much later that the pain had come, loss that was not eased with the knowledge that she had absolutely done what was right for the orphaned child. She missed her still, and wondered whether she had ever found happiness after the terror she had experienced at Michael’s hands. Rhapsody had vowed to herself, from that time forward, that no child would ever be abused if she could prevent it, no matter the cost to herself. She caressed the tiny heads in the darkness, choking back the memory.

For several days a wild storm raged outside, howling around them like a pack of wolves at their concealed door. Rhapsody took comfort in the fact that the pounding wind and snow had undoubtedly covered their tracks by now, but it was hard to stop feeling uneasy.

The children screamed in terror at the first crash of a tree above them, and scurried to Rhapsody, trying to burrow beneath her arms and legs for cover. Some were frightened enough to seek solace in Grunthor, and found him to be a highly satisfactory refuge. He comforted them with repulsive jokes and had them laughing even as the thunder rumbled around them, shaking showers of dirt and rocks from the cave walls and roof. Eventually the storm abated, but the children remained, sleeping or playing near their new gigantic friend.

Grunthor kept watch by day until the supper hour, sleeping until midnight, when he took up the guard post again. Rhapsody and Jo stood guard together while he slept, but no one came to disturb their hiding place, not even woodland animals. The tainted evil of the forest had driven the wildlife away long ago.

It was during this time that she and Jo got better acquainted, and found themselves developing a fond liking for each other, though the teenager still refused each request to share more details of her name. They had similar senses of humor, and each often struggled to keep from laughing aloud at the other’s observations, particularly about Grunthor.

It was hard not to think back on her own childhood when watching Jo, which always left her feeling morose. Jo’s life on the street had been a result of unfortunate circumstance; Rhapsody’s painful history was of her own making. Jo had no family; Rhapsody had thrown hers away, left behind people who had loved her, had protected and cherished her, and who had died, never knowing what became of her. The dreams that followed such waking thoughts were so torturous that they must, at least on some level, be penance for her crimes.

Rhapsody found herself wishing that she were taking the girl back to Navarne, to a safe place, instead of into the belly of the Bolglands. Eventually she shared this sentiment with Jo, who reminded her with a nod to the sleeping children that danger was everywhere these days; it was better not to be deluded into feeling safe.

Finally, after almost a week, Achmed returned with reinforcements. The caravan was audible from a great way off, with Grunthor having been alerted early on to its presence on the land through his Earth lore.

Rhapsody stumbled out into the painful brightness and shielded her eyes, searching the frost-covered branches of trees and forest brush for their rescuers.

In the distance she could hear the sound of horses and wagons, making slow progress through the thick woods along the path they had traveled on their fateful visit to the House of Remembrance.

Almost an hour after she had heard them, soldiers came into sight, more than two score of them, led by Achmed and Lord Stephen himself on horseback. When Achmed came within range she rose and waved, bringing a smile to the face of the duke. Stephen dismounted and ran to the cave, sweeping her into a frenzied embrace.

“Sweet All-God the Creator, Rhapsody, are you all right? I’ve been worried sick about you ever since Achmed arrived.” He pulled away and looked at her intently, then cleared his throat as color flooded his face along with obvious relief.

Rhapsody patted his shoulder reassuringly. “We’re all fine, Lord Stephen, thank you. The children are inside the cave with Grunthor.”

“Well, haul them out of there, and let’s see who we’ve got,” he said, bending and peering into the entrance of the den.

At the sight of Stephen’s face, Grunthor marshaled the small troops. “All right, ya bloomin’ skels, ’op to it and line up,” he ordered. At the command the children leapt to attention and formed a wiggling line, chattering with excitement, the first jollity they had been allowed in a very long while.

One by one Grunthor handed the children up to Rhapsody, who passed them to Lord Stephen. The duke spoke reassuringly to each child, recognizing some, questioning others, until fourteen of the children had emerged and had been handed over to the care of the soldiers near the wagon. Finally, Jo appeared, walking ahead of a strong push by Grunthor. Rhapsody took the girl’s thin, pale hand; it was trembling.

“Lord Stephen, may I present my sister, Jo?” She gave the girl an encouraging smile, then looked back at the Duke of Navarne.

Stephen stared at Jo for a moment, then turned to Rhapsody, whose smile grew noticeably brighter. “How do you do, Jo?” he said a moment later. “It’s an honor to meet a member of Rhapsody’s family. I’m sorry we didn’t meet earlier.”

“I’m not,” muttered Jo under her breath.

“Was that all the children, then?” Lord Stephen asked.

Rhapsody’s smile faded. “I’m afraid so,” she said sadly. “I wish there had been more. We searched the House of Remembrance thoroughly, but we didn’t find anyone else.” Not alive, at least, she thought grimly.

Lord Stephen took her gently by the shoulders. “I’m grateful to all of you for finding these,” he said. “There are many grieving parents and relatives who will be celebrating at week’s end when we return.”

“I only wish there could be more,” she said, thinking back to the small lifeless bodies strung hideously from the slaughter altars. “I hope you sent troops with strong stomachs and no children of their own.” She turned and watched Grunthor handing the children up to the soldiers in the wagon, then looked back into the young duke’s smiling face. She regarded him seriously.

“Please go home with these children,” she said gravely. “You’ve already suffered enough. It’s better that you leave the cleanup of the House to others, m’lord.”

Lord Stephen looked at the ground. “It’s Stephen,” he said. “And I will abide by your counsel.”

“We’re ready, m’lord,” called the captain of the regiment. Rhapsody and the duke looked at each other a moment longer, then Stephen reluctantly released her shoulders.

Once free, she trotted to the wagon and bade the children goodbye, blowing them kisses. The small faces looked back, some blankly, some smiling; the trauma would take a long time to heal. The driver of the wagon clicked to the horses and the cart lurched forward, flanked by mounted soldiers, and slowly made its way back down the forest road.

Lord Stephen stepped over several fallen logs and went up to the two Bolg. He extended his hand to each of them.

“Thank you,” he said. “You have the gratitude of Navarne, and my family, always. I’ve provisioned four horses for you, and have included a letter of introduction under my signet if there is anyone to whom you think it might be useful. Know that you are welcome in my home at all times.”

“Thanks, guv,” said Grunthor, wringing the young man’s hand.

“Where are you headed next?” the duke asked Achmed, absently rubbing his shoulder.

The mismatched eyes studied the royal face. “Canrif,” Achmed said finally, “but I’d prefer you to be the only person who knows it for the time being.”

“Done. I’d suggest you head north to the Orlandan Plateau and follow the main road through Bethany to Bethe Corbair; that’s the last province of Roland before the Bolglands.” Achmed nodded in agreement. That was the route sketched out in the notebook.

“Once you get to the province of Bethe Corbair, at the place where the rolling hills flatten into the Krevensfield Plain, travel southeast and approach the city from the south; it’s safer. And if you get into trouble in Bethe Corbair, ask to see the duke, Quentin Baldasarre, or, failing that, sue for religious asylum and see the benison, Lanacan Orlando. He is a very kind man. Show him my letter, and I’m sure he will aid you in any way he can.” Rhapsody had joined the group with Jo. “Thank you,” she said. “And may I suggest you have your soldiers who are going on to the House take whatever scrolls or items you wish to save. The perpetrator of these crimes considers that house his own, and may be back.” Lord Stephen nodded.

“I’ve already briefed him extensively, Rhapsody,” said Achmed, “and we’re going to lose the light if we don’t leave now.”

“Goodbye, m’lord,” Rhapsody said to Stephen. “Please give my love to my grandchildren.” He took her hand and kissed it, then tried to do the same to Jo, who snatched her hand away and glared at him hostilely. Grunthor and Achmed walked the duke back to his steed and bade him goodbye as he mounted and rode off after one more backward look.

“Well, these ’orses ain’t too bad,” said Grunthor to Rhapsody, who was still watching long after Stephen had ridden out of sight. “’Oo gets the big one?”

Rhapsody turned and looked in the direction of the giant. Three of the four horses were of muscular riding stock, while the last, roughly half again the size of the others, was a full-breed warhorse.

“I think you should ride the mare, Grunthor,” said Rhapsody, pointing to the most delicate of the four.

Grunthor was about to throw back a humorous answer when a choked voice spoke up.

“I can’t ride.” Jo sounded as if she were strangling.

Rhapsody took her hand. “Just because you never have doesn’t mean you can’t. You can ride with me.”

Achmed nodded. “We can put the heaviest supplies on the fourth horse, and travel faster that way.”

After a little repacking by Achmed and Grunthor, and much wheedling, reassuring, and coaxing of Jo by Rhapsody, the four finally saddled up and rode off to the northeast, across the provinces of Navarne and Bethany, south through the Krevensfield plain toward the capital city of Bethe Corbair, the gateway to the dark realm of the Firbolg.